Evils of Equestria
by Drake Dragonsoul
Summary: Hello, welcome to my humble home. Are you looking for a remedy to something unicorn magic can't cure or perhaps a foreign tailsman said to possess strange powers? Or maybe you wish to hear me tell a story? I have such stories. Stories of things from beyond the stars, of horrors in our own lands, and of the things ponies will do to each if harmony doesn't exist in their hearts.


Greetings and welcome to Ponyville! A beautiful, sunny, country town wouldn't you say? Hehe! Ah, but this town has such secrets, secrets I can share with you. I hope you're not faint of heart though. My stories can be a bit… grim and dark.

Hmm, let's see… Ah, I know just the one to tell you. I think it'll… open your eyes. Ehehehhehe!

**Eyes of the Mad Prophet**

It happened on a cold winter's night. The Pegasi had been busy covering the sky with clouds and the ground with frozen snow. Nopony trekked outside in that frigid air, except for a pair with hearts far colder than the harsh snow and ice around them.

They possessed no sense of friendship or belonging. No true sense, but they had a flock, a congregation of lost souls lured by the promise of companionship. What was the price of this companionship? Blood and flesh and life sacrificed under their cult leader's knife to a dark god.

The pair, a stallion and mare, slunk carefully through the shadows. Small town inhabitants don't take kindly to their friends and neighbors vanishing in the night only to be found ripped open and drained of blood on some demonic altar. Members of the congregation knew their fate if the town caught them.

"Careful, you klutz!" the stallion exclaimed when his companion crashed into him.

"Well, give me some warning before you just halt in the middle of the pitch black street, dunderhead!" she snapped back. She hadn't been looking ahead, instead her eyes searched warily for trouble.

He stopped and turned his head to the side. The night hid his face from the mare's eyes, but she had seen his bratty glare enough to clearly picture it in her mind. He looked like a pouty little foal whenever he wore the expression.

"My name's Riffraff," he snarled.

"Dunderhead suits you more," she said. The mare, named Sour Sweets, stuck her tongue out at him. She saw Riffraff's shoulders shake and his hind leg rose a few inches off the ground. She stepped back, just in case he really intended to kick her, but he relaxed, no doubt realizing the sort of trouble he'd earn from Father Goodweather if he dared harm a fellow disciple.

"Come on, we're wasting time," he said, trotting toward a house. The building resembled every other one on the street, constructed of white timber with a thatched straw roof. For some reason, Father Goodweather had sent them to this house in particular, referencing a dream or vision in his impassioned speech to the congregation. Sour Sweets had been half-listening, half-checking out the well-built stallion standing in front of her.

Riffraff stopped under a window and pointed his horn at it. Red light sheathed his horn as he grunted and closed his eyes, focusing. A click sounded from inside and the window swung open. Riffraff lifted his front legs unto the windowsill, glancing back for a moment to whisper. "Keep watch here."

"What? Don't you need my help in case-?"

"No, I can handle the rest by myself!"

He pulled himself into the house, his hooves making soft clops against the wooden floor. Sour Sweets walked over to the window and stood in front of it. Her wide eyes darted over the shadowed streets and houses as the seconds passed. Her heartbeat quickened and she hunched up against the cold, missing the irritating unicorn's presence. The hair on her neck stood up and a chill shook her body as she sensed something watching her. Stepping away from the house, she trekked onto the snowplowed street, the sensation of being watched persisted.

"Hello?" she called softly. "Is somepony there?"

A loud howl of wind answered her, blasting frozen air in her face. She grunted and scowled, lowering her face against the wind. Something clomped through the snow to her right and she spun around to find Riffraff standing there, a sack hovering over his shoulder, suspended by his magic.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought I-," she mumbled, glancing around. That watchful presence she felt had vanished, but she couldn't dismiss it as her imagination. Sweat had soaked her green coat.

"Did you see a ghost or something?" Riffraff sneered. He tossed the bag at her and it landed with a thump in the snow at her feet. "You can carry that since I did all the hard work."

Sour Sweets rounded on him, but the unicorn had already started walking down the street. She growled, but reached down and bit hold of the sack, noticing that it seemed rather small. Suspecting Riffraff had just robbed the house instead of capturing their sacrifice she prodded the bag with a hoof. A small bundle flinched away and she heard muffled sobs from within.

"Is that a foal?" she exclaimed. Sour Sweets had been a faithful member of the Cult of the Nameless One for a few months. She cared little for what happened to any adults, but the young runaway had enough of her childish innocence left to question this. It's funny how the same naiveté that allowed Father Goodweather to lead her astray now worked in defense of this young innocent.

"Do you want to argue with the Father?" Riffraff halted in his tracks and turned back towards her. He stood a good head taller than her and possessed a well-fed, muscular body, compared to her skinny, almost sickly one. Plus the horn on his head gave him all the advantages of unicorn magic.

The earth pony shrunk away. If she argued, the best case scenario would be going back to the street, hungry, cold, and alone. That's if they didn't decide to tie her to the altar next. Despite what most stories would have you believe, heroes don't exist everywhere. Sour Sweets bent down and picked up the bag without another word.

They plodded through the snow, the wind buffeting them. Sour Sweets fumed silently the whole time, the sweat freezing to her body, while the foal's weight slowed her down, forcing her to drag it over the cold wet ground. She wished she could afford more than the thin scarf wrapped around her neck. Riffraff trotted on ahead, his warm jacket protecting him from the cold. Her hooves began to numb as they reached the church at last.

Father Goodweather's house stood between two typical Ponyville homes. The building had been painted red at some point and the roof replaced with shingles. A tall wooden fence ran around the property. Riffraff knocked against the gate and a disciple that Sour Sweets didn't recognize opened it.

"Hurry, we're ready for the ritual," the pony said, gesturing for them to enter. After they stepped inside, he slammed the gate closed and locked it. Riffraff trotted down the sidewalk, while the disciple took the heavy bag from the shivering Sour Sweets.

She sighed in relief when she stepped into the warm house. Darkly stained wood covered the floors and walls. The flickering light of the living room's fireplace cast strange, writhing pony-shaped shadows on the wall. Landscape and nature paintings hung in picture frames. The massive crowd of ponies stretched from the living room into the hallway. They all wore brown hooded cloaks that veiled their faces in shadow. The three forced their way through the thick mass of bodies. Several Pegasus ponies hovered in the free airspace afforded by the high ceiling.

"Feather, we're back!" Riffraff shouted over the noise of several conversations.

"Ah!" a voice exclaimed. The crowd parted, clearing the way for an old sand-colored Pegasus. Gold trim adjourned his bright crimson robe. He smiled in a proud, fatherly way. "Did you bring our sacrifice?"

Riffraff grabbed the bag and pulled its occupant out. He waved the small grey foal around in his magical grip. A gag covered the captive's mouth and rope bound her limbs. The crowd hushed, a few ponies gasped.

Father Goodweather stopped in front of Riffraff and turned to face his gathered followers. "My brothers and sisters, this night marks a momentous occasion. The Nameless One has never spoken to me more clearly than on this night. He's chosen this young one to open our eyes to his majesty. The unbelievers will fall, or convert!"

"Are you crazy?" a voice interrupted. The crowd mumbled and parted around the speaker. The unicorn mare threw her hood back and glared at Father Goodweather. A messy red mane framed her white face. "You're talking about killing a child."

"It's a necessary sacrifice, one commanded by our master," Goodweather hovered into the air and swept his forelegs over the room. His voice thundered loudly. "Does anypony else here question our master's will?"

Sour Sweets gritted her teeth and waited for somepony to say something. Nopony else rose to the foal's defense. Perhaps they feared the monstrous creature from beyond the stars they worshipped, perhaps the material and political benefits Father Goodweather's legitimate job afforded some, offered too much appeal for them to lose it over the life of a small child, fear kept many more from speaking out, they'd seen what became of ponies who lost the faith and tried to leave, or maybe some actually believed in the Father's vague promises of everlasting glory.

"Seize her," he commanded and the ponies surged forward to restrain the mare. She shouted and kicked, but the ponies piled atop her, crushing her under their stamping hooves. They drew back after her movements ceased, leaving a crumpled bleeding figure on the floor. Only a few soft whimpers showed she was still alive. Goodweather frowned. "Such a shame. Everypony, prepare for the ritual!"

He dropped to the ground and led the way out of the room. The crowd followed him, filing down the door to the basement. Sour Sweets ended up walking next to Riffraff, despite wanting to disappear among the mass of faces. The Father dropped back, wrapped a wing around her shoulder, and smiled down at her. "Thank you for helping bring the chosen one to us."

She felt sick; perhaps she had caught something out in the cold. All she knew was that she didn't want to be there, descending the rickety wooden steps into the damp, dark wine cellar. The foal twisted and kicked helplessly, still magically suspended in midair, her frightened grunts filling Sour Sweets' ears. Something was very wrong. Sour felt it in her gut.

Racks of wine filled the basement, alongside large wooden kegs. The room was too small and cramped to fit so many ponies. Father Goodweather walked over to a wine rack against the wall and pulled a bottle down. A lever clicked. Stone scraped against stone as the wall, including the shelf, slid aside to reveal an opening.

The secret passage led into a massive stone chamber. Hooves clacked against the rocky floor as ponies filed inside. They began spreading out, lighting torches that hung along the walls. Light filled the room, revealing the raised platform against the far wall, the altar that stood before the stage, and the image of a massive face with a mouthful of teeth carved into the stone directly behind the stage. Angry eyes stared out of the carving's sockets. Tentacles and claws spread out from the ghastly head, decorating the walls. Images of ponies either bowing down and worshipping the figure or writhing, impaled on a claw or tentacle, interspaced the design.

Sour Sweets ducked into a side room. Robes dangled from the wall, she grabbed one and slipped it on, wrapping the loose folds tightly around her cold body. She shivered as that sense of something watching her returned. She hurried back into the main room, but even hid among her brothers and sisters, she felt the eyes of something remain fixed on her.

Father Goodweather and Riffraff stood on the stage. The grey filly had been tied to the altar. Sour Sweets stood and listened to her soft sobs, while trying to shake the feeling of being stalked.

The congregation began chanting, causing Sour Sweets to snap out of her paranoia and glance up at the stage. Goodweather gripped the jagged ritual knife between two hooves and raised it overhead. The chanting became loud and frantic, the ponies bellowing out an unnatural screech.

Father Goodweather thrust the dagger downwards and Sour Sweets looked away. A loud wet sound filled the chamber and everypony fell silent. She glanced back at the altar; the filly still struggled against her bonds, whimpering. She spotted Father Goodweather, or half of him anyway lying behind the altar, the upper half of his body lay against the wall, a trail of blood marking the thrown torso's path. Riffraff stared dumbfound at the body of his former leader. An empty hole, the size of a tennis ball, replaced his right eye; Sour could see the wall behind his head through it. The unicorn slumped to the floor, quite dead.

The good Father had horribly misinterpreted his dream. Whatever the Nameless One wished for the filly, sacrifice wasn't part of Its agenda and now Its wrath had been brought down on the congregation.

Everypony screamed and ran for the exit, bodies crowding the narrow passage. Sour Sweets followed the panicked crowd, trying to shove her way in between a large earth pony and a dainty unicorn mare. The two of them exploded into five separate pieces of gore along with ten other ponies next to them. Warm blood sprayed across her face. She shrieked and backpedaled as more ponies were ripped to shreds by some invisible force.

For a moment, as the blood stung her eyes and they blurred with tears, she saw the force slaughtering her brothers and sisters. The stone claws and tentacles on the wall ripped at the crowd, yet the murals never seemed to leave the wall or move; still they ripped and tore at the ponies all the same. They were hard stone and invisible force and so many indescribable things all at the same time. Pain split her head and she ripped her gaze away from the sight. A chunk of something inside her mind or soul was sucked out when she looked away, leaving her feeling hollow inside.

Sour kept her eyes shut tight as she stumbled back towards the altar, ponies pushed past her, thinking only of escape and running right into the monster's jaws or whatever it used to kill. Some screamed and pleaded with the Nameless One to spare them. Their cries ended with wet, shredding sounds.

Her face slammed into hard stone, knocking her on her rump. Blood streamed out of her nose and joined the red coat already covering her front. She thought blood had begun leaking from her closed eyelids, but maybe it was just tears. She heard the filly's whimpers and realized she had crashed into the altar.

The sounds of slaughter stopped as suddenly as they began. Sour Sweets felt a massive presence behind her. An incredible urge to turn around and open her eyes gripped her. Instead she wrapped her hooves around the altar and held unto it, keeping her head bent down. The creature moved closer and Sour Sweets whimpered. The filly gasped and fell silent.

"Keep your eyes closed! Keep your eyes closed!" Sour repeated, not sure if she was talking to herself or the child. A terrified shriek pierced her ears, but she stayed rooted to the platform, muttering to herself. "Keep your eyes closed! Keep your eyes closed!"

The neighbors heard the screams and called the police. They arrived to find Sour Sweets still clinging to the altar, covered in blood, surrounded by dismembered bodies, and repeating her mantra over and over. The filly remained bound to the altar, a cheerful smile on her face and her eyes staring off in separate directions. They returned the child to her parents, but the experience had changed her irrevocably. Bad luck seemed to befall anypony close to her. Her parents died in an accident less than a year later. She bounced around the foster care system; anypony who adopted her meeting an unfortunate end. Just last week, she inflicted serious damage to the town hall, but perhaps it really is just bad luck, eh?

So, if you see a walleyed Pegasus waving and smiling at you, please show some kindness and wave back and maybe buy her a muffin. After all, she's seen things that make our nightmares seem like pleasant little foal stories.

Sour Sweets was committed to the Ponyville Psychiatric Hospital. She still hasn't opened her eyes, or said anything except for those four words over and over. Eh? Then how do I know this story? Well, perhaps I'll explain that some other time.


End file.
